All had been done, all was final. She was leaving. She would join him, her love, and there life could finally begin.
(She thought so, the little fool, she thought so with all the strength of her little heart.)
It was not proper, it was certainly not gentle, but it was romantic, and it was time it became real.
She had believed it for so long, but then, everything, everyone had tried to stop her. But not anymore. She couldn't bear it! She would not bear it any longer!
She had imagined it clearly. Her lover, waiting for her at the station. The exotism of New Orléans, its scent of spices and beignets. He would be so surprised to see her come! To see how bold she had been for him! He would welcome her with his grinning eyes, tease her about her great adventure, and steal a kiss…
First, a page had to be turned. She had prepared herself, so very carefully…
She was ready. She could face it. She could face him .
(She was not ready. She should have known dreams never came true. She saw it now, and the memory still lay behind her lids when she closed her eyes.)
"Je pars", her younger self cried to the impenetrable Pierre Robillard, who was still, to her utter devastation, looking at his paper as if she hadn't declared her departure. "C'est ainsi, je le rejoins! Vous et ce bon à rien de Rhett Butler l'avez peut-être fait partir, mais je le rejoindrai! Rien ne saurait séparer des âmes qui s'aiment!"
She knew it was a very unkind thing to say. She knew what it could imply about her mother.
Nonetheless, she knew this would make this dark head raise with a reaction that equaled, if not surpassed, hers.
Anything but an indifference that would insult the strength of her love.
He froze for a moment, his jaw hardening, then turned a page.
"Tu ne le feras pas. Tu n'es pas de ces filles qui partent à l'aventure."
Her bag fell on the marble floor as she took a step forward, aghast. Her blood rushed in her veins with nervous energy.
"Oh, mais si, je le suis!"
Another page was turned.
"Non. Tu n'es pas de ces filles là qui sont capables de suivre leur homme vers l'inconnu. Tu n'es pas une Hélène de Troie," and with these words, she could taste his lingering disappointment, and it fed her indignation. It was another way of saying she was not like her mother. 'Les hommes et leurs tragédies!' As her mother once said. No, she was no Helen of Troy, for she was no seductress, and she would never bear to cause chaos for his amusement. But she would be like… like… his eyes narrowed, and she shuddered. "Ni aucune autre héroïne venant de ces romances stupides que tu aimes tant. Et meme si tu l'etais, je ne le permettrais pas. Ta mère ne me le permettrait pas. Que crois-tu donc faire avec ce maigre bagage à tes pieds?"
She looked down, at the bag that had taken her so much time to make, and felt very foolish, very childish. She had thought to bring the necessary. Yet, she knew how he would laugh. He would laugh of the book she chose for travel, the honey cake she had taken from the kitchen under Mammy's nose, and which made her feel very wicked. He would laugh at the few clothes that could fit, and which would make her dear Mammy falter, for they could not maintain by their volume the men at bay.
But he was still not even bothering to look at her. No, not him, the impeccable, imperturbable Pierre Robillard! Not even his own daughter!
(He knew the end already.)
"Ma fille, reprends-toi. Tu n'es qu'un petit oiseau, un joli petit colibri, bien cultivé et plaisant, et je vois que ce que je dis t'ébouriffe les plumes, mais tu n'as aucun sens pratique, et ta peau est aussi douce que celle d'un bébé. Tu n'es pas de taille. Crois-moi, ma fille, tout ce qui t'attends là-bas, c'est le regret et l'amertume."
Oh, he so enjoyed destroying her dreams!
"Tu es un tyran! Je te déteste! Tout le monde te déteste, et Mère aussi, de là-haut! Elle m'aurait voulu heureuse, elle! Elle aurait voulu que j'ai ce qu'elle n'a pas eu, un amour tellement fort qu'il serait capable de vaincre la mort!"
That time, his dark eyes shot through hers.
First, she felt the thrill of his notice. Then came the fear of his ire.
"C'est la première fois que tu oses…,, he said smoothly, almost silkily. His black eyes were daggers on her skin, and she shivered. For a moment, she was a stranger, and she could see why he was still feared. She could see the bloodthirsty soldier of Napoléon, fearless and cruel.
She could see her mother's equal.
But she had never been.
She flushed, mortified by her words, and, in a moment of tragic uncertainty, faltered.
How could she have been so cruel? This was not who she wanted to be. She was not usually like that. It wasn't in her nature.
She was not her father.
What meant his many gifts, when he did not think capable of anything? When he refused her what she truly wanted? What meant his usual gestures of tenderness, when in just a few words, he had cut her so deeply?
She wanted to cry. Oh, why was he cruel now, when at another time, he had been weak, and she had known how to make him bend to her will?
If he was cruel now, perhaps… perhaps it wasn't that much of good idea?
(She had always been too easy to persuade. )
Had she been too hasty? Was she thinking clearly? Suddenly, under his glare, she was thinking again, and she felt herself very childish, she who had thought herself brave, à true woman just moments before.
He softened and straightened his paper. His mouth went down. "Bah, tu es jeune. Tu ne sais pas ce que tu dis. Dis-moi, ma fille, n'as tu pas la foi? Si tu avais si confiance que ça en ton beau ténébreux de cousin, ne préférerais-tu pas les honneurs d'une Pénélope attendant son Ulysse?"
"Il me reviendra!"
She said so, strongly, perhaps too strongly. Of course he would. He had told her so, hadn't he?
Her heart pounded.
"Alors, attends, ma fille. Après tout, rien ne saurait séparer des âmes qui s'aiment d'un amour capable de vaincre la mort."
His tone had been slightly jeering, and thus began the loss of hope.
After that, she knew he had tricked her. He always had, and here it was even before he had presented her with that drink.
She had always known he had his way with words. As a child, she would think him a magician, just as her mother was a goddess, so distant, elegant and strong, and so worthy to be worshipped.
She had been a dreamer then. Practicality had come with necessity, with time.
Still, the words had worked, and now, here she was.
Where was she, again? She blinked
Ma fille, n'as tu pas la foi ?
(Had faith ever brought her anything?)
They echoed in her soul like drops of water in a too little bottle.
Oh, yes, she was still in that room. That little room that had little of the elegant style of the Robillard mansion. She had always thought one day she would manage to find what it lacked of, but she never had the time, and with time, she could not find it at all. It was a lost little thing, but what was it?
"Suellen did this?" She managed to say as finally the words reached her.
She shook her head, trying to get rid of the numb feeling, and stared at the window. The Georgian sun was still so very coarse, especially during summer. It hit harshly on the darkness of the forest of pines and increased their greedy shadow.
She had thought she had grown used to it but now she could not, and Suellen was... Suellen was...
Mr. O'Hara began to rise in alarm, but his poor knee made him wince, and she felt herself suffocating even more.
She had no one. No one whose shoulder she could lean on. It had always been so. She had always held it together, all of her ruins, and all of theirs.
How pathetic he seemed, she found herself thinking, with the strange feeling that her soul was trying to float away from her body, leaving it tangling all over. Oh pathetic and old, yes… he was kind, this man, but he could not hold her. She could not rest…
Her lids lowered heavily, and for perhaps the first time, her head began to fall softly to the side, and she felt the ache growing…
"Mrs. O'Hara, do not fidget, I will get our girl back and shake her rightfully for this..."
However, she could not hear. She could not see. The cloak of her past was pushing her down, choking her.
A life of bitterness and regret…
A love able to vanquish death...
"This is my fault," she found herself saying, in a little voice so very afar from her own body. "This is my curse ."
Her fingers gripped the wood pearls of the rosary, counting till they felt numb, and all was pearls, pain and bones.
Then, the world, this wretched world that kept shaking her, waiting for her to break, crumbled at her feet.
And she crumbled with it.
.
.
.
Atlanta, The Trout House
The day had begun with a sour taste for Frank Kennedy as he tried to rest in his little room.
The O'Haras owe me a bride, he thought, and his thoughts first turned to Scarlett, the charming little widow, that also had the hint of scandals that his shy nature envied as much as it feared it. She had been so sweet and full of belief of his strength and ability to save the County though. He knew that under his guidance, she, like a proper woman, would step aside and keep her place, while adding a little spice when it was appropriate.
However, the thought of Rhett Butler stopped him on these perillous tracks. She was to be his now, and Frank Kennedy felt he was too much of a delicate gentleman to face such a beast as this man.
Then, his thoughts found their proper place as he thought of the youngest girl, Carreen. A frail, beautiful girl, soft and quiet as a woman should be. Still young, but it meant also he could shape her to be a very pleasant companion for him indeed. Young girls were clays in the hands of the right men. He would be kind to her and she would be grateful.
Yes, she could make a proper substitute for Suellen. A better option, he thought, not like Suellen who proved herself unsuitable by fleeing.
Fleeing! When he had been kind and patient to her!
And with who? He did not know! A trash of a man certainly, who had lured her with sweet words and false promises.
Wasn't he a worthy man? He had gone to adventure, he, with his age, and returned a wealthier man than he had been before, and with that he had been hailed as a hero. Why, he was worth ten Suellen, or even more!
After all, he thought, Suellen wasn't the most beautiful of the O'Hara girls, nor the gentlest…
.
.
.
In the Hamilton's house
The message had been left for her to find, on her desk, and the silly girl had even used her paper and pen. The letters were hurried with excitement, but still readable, a remain of the lessons of calligraphy they had shared, and the second sister had succeeded in, for beautiful letters were a lady's mark.
The heat of the day still lingered on Scarlett's brow, but she forced herself to read. She had nothing else to do, after all, but wait for that awful day to end and go, and for the next one to come.
Even if it felt irksome to do so!
.
Scarlett,
When you read this letter, it will be too late. I will be gone. I did the thing you did not dare.
I do not ask for your blessing.
Do not judge me, and if you do, shame on you, Scarlett O'Hara! You have no right!
In fact, you should think it is all your fault if I am led to such an extent!
I am more than an O'Hara. I am more than your sister. I am done playing second violon to you. You should…
.
Scarlett's eye twitched a little, her brow lowering heavily. She was very much tempted to throw it away in the chimney. But that would mean lighting a fire, and it was far too hot. She was irritated but not mad.
What, her fault? She had nothing to do with it!
She wanted to throw it away. However, she only gritted her teeth, her eyes aching with weariness and irritation. Then she saw the blur at the end of the sentence, and it made her continue.
.
No.
I reread this letter, and I think: is it who I want to be?
The answer is no. You and I have never seen eye to eye. It is not an easy thing to be gentle after so many years resenting you. It is something so deeply rooted that I cannot easily let go. It seems even being aware of a problem, the way it works doesn't solve it, does it, Scarlett? I think both of us know this quite well by now.
But I want to try, if only for a last time. If you're still reading.
I hope you are still reading.
I think in the end, I've always envied you. Now, I know envying you is quite a useless thing. You do not care for my envy.
Now, I have love, and I am not letting it go like Melanie. It is bigger than I. I love and am loved in return. Before, I felt like I was in a trap, and now, I'm getting out of it.
I choose adventure. I choose love. But as I am writing this, I wonder… what are you choosing, sister?
I wish to believe it is love entirely. But if it was love, you would be happy and triumphant, as I am now.
I do not ask for your blessing.
But I would be happy to have it.
I hope you'll be happy as well. We shall perhaps never be affectionate sisters, but we are sisters all the same.
My love to Tara, in the hope that you manage to soften the blow to Mother and Pa.
(I know you will. You can be very distracting.)
Susan Elinor
.
The names had been stretched out on the paper in an almost tender, dreamy fashion, as if for a moment their writer had lingered in thought, in a dream of her own, and Scarlett had the gripping image of her imagining being called so by her lover, just as she had once dreamed of being called by Rhett. It felt like a stab and twist in the heart. But it had its warmth, she could not deny it.
She understood it so very perfectly.
"Oh, Suellen! You silly girl… what have you done?"
Was that girl ready for life with a man that would still be another's by God?
Does it matter? She found herself thinking. If he loved her…
Of course, it should, she corrected. It should.
But so far away from her friends and family, from any comfort she knew?
She found herself crying.
"Fool, poor little fool!"
Just as she was gone, Scarlett realized she truly loved her sister, and that realization came with the regret of not having taken the time to appreciate her more. Or to know her at all. All her mind seemed at this moment to show her the loss of what could have been, though perhaps at times unrealistic, and the memories of the times she had been mean.
But most of all, she was envious. For the very first time in her life, she was frustratingly, deeply, envious of her sister.
Regret was a terrible thing. But with envy, it left a bittersweet taste in the mouth.
Just like his words.
Take your fill of red clay … again with his threats. Or, were they really? The doubts kept creeping in as Rhett's words rang to her mind like a sinister prophecy. They echoed her own suspicions, from the last time she had gone to Tara, the buoyant place of her birth, so many times taken for granted, taking a fragile breath, as if afraid it might not survive the storm.
"Scarlett… you should eat something. You haven't left the office for so long..."
Melanie. Scarlett started. She had not heard her knocking at the door.
"You should eat as well," she replied shortly, and her hand swiftly put the letter aside, as if to hide it.
As if she could ever hide such a thing.
But as her gaze jumped toward Melanie, so was the actual thought that what she had said was the truth. Melanie was pale and frail like death, and her eyes rimmed with red.
She can barely walk on her own, thought Scarlett with dismay.
Her mouth pursed as she prevented herself to say more than she ought.
Once, a long time ago, she had said to Edward Goldin that if he hurt Melanie in any way, she would destroy him. Yet, she had not anticipated Melanie would be the one to destroy her own happiness.
Her wrath then was a confused energy as she pondered what to do with it.
A waste, that was all it was, and she hated it. Hated it even more that she had thought this one union would be the reminder and hope that one could be happily married and in love. She, Scarlett, had needed that illusion, and now it was no more.
It was very unfair, and so very frustrating.
"Scarlett…"
She shook herself and raised, trying to smooth any remnant of her dismay, but her eyes burned. Her hand was slightly trembling as she pushed the letter away.
"Suellen left us for good," she said, and it sounded like she was talking of the weather.
She was almost hating Melanie for standing there, so pale, so frail, and yet so courageous, so ready to be a good friend to her as the girl took a step back, appalled, only to swiftly come to her side, on her knees as she could better convey her feelings in such a way.
"Oh, Scarlett… no, perhaps it is all a misunderstanding… don't worry…"
She turned her head for a moment, trying to discreetly wipe her remaining tears.
"No, Melanie, it's not. Her words are very clear. But I don't worry…"
"How can you say so?"
"She made her choice. And I think she did good."
"But…"
Scarlett's eyes sharpened on the trembling girl beside her, and all protests crumbled with a flushed veil that seemed to weight over Melanie's body.
Scarlett softened. She was just a girl, after all. Of course, it had to happen that way. A frail girl with romantic ideas, and romantic ideas never got anyone very far.
Or perhaps too far, she corrected herself. She had the proofs of it now.
Dear Lord, how could she let that girl alone, then? She asked herself with dismay. She was so weak!
Her lips pouted for a moment as her disappointment waved over her, but she swiftly erased it in favor of an understanding, perhaps too wide smile.
She put her hand on Melanie's, soothingly. However, all she wanted was to shake her, to tell her how wrong she was.
"Perhaps I should not go to Tara, she said instead with a hesitant voice.
Melanie's hand went still, clenched, and she raised slowly. There was a strange, reddish glow on her cheeks. She shook her head.
"No, Scarlett. You need to go. For yourself first. But also… she seemed to hesitate for a moment, her thin lips pressing anxiously, until she finally decided to continue. for me as well. I need to be alone. I am well. I am fine. I… well, perhaps it was bound to happen…"
"Well and fine? Bound to happen?" Scarlett's bow quirked. "Or you could go with me..."
"I can't always take refuge in Tara. It is your place, not mine. I have to go on here, for it is my place, with the persons I have known all my life."
Scarlett dismissed it. Everything was fine and well, indeed!
"With Aunt Pitty!" She sniffed. "You have another problem coming! No, I won't leave you like that, darling."
Melanie's eyes narrowed, the tender, usually warm brown turning into a darker shade. Her cheeks flushed even more, her jaws so tense it seemed they would break with any further disturbance.
"I can handle her."
Scarlett rolled her eyes, so caught in her irritation she could not see the tension growing, the little frame slightly trembling, the little flame of reluctant resentment growing.
"Of course, you can. She will pet you and say you did the right thing, and that 'aren't we good, living here all by ourselves '?"
"I can handle that. I'm used to her coddling. But don't do this. I-I won't bear yours ."
The tone was sharp, almost cutting. It cut through Scarlett's denial as swiftly as a knife and took her breath away. She stared for a moment, baffled, and her eyes finally looked, finally saw.
For perhaps the first time in her life, Melanie was more than a little bit angry, but that intense emotion brought no stutter to her. She was furious, and it snapped in her so suddenly, like a drop in an already full vase, that her whole being seemed about to burst from it. Her anger was terrible, not because it was a burst of life, but because it was filled with so many things that Melanie herself could not analyze and name properly. It was a great load she had carried bravely until this day without complain in a bag, and that bag was now pierced.
A better person would have certainly seen the load and been patient and helpful. But Scarlett, even had she seen it as it was, was in no mood to be patient and helpful, when she felt Melanie should never have carried anything in the first place. Her blood boiled in front of any helplessness, and a fight was better than nothing at all.
She wanted to scream, and for Melanie to scream as well. She wanted to throw something, to break things. Anything but the banalization of what happened, a condescension one could give to à child.
"I… You won't bear me? Alright, that's it, I'll leave you with your aunt Pitty and her swoons and her fretting! "
"This is my burden to bear, don't you understand? I can't have you… I can't have you always making me think…that I made…."
"That you made the biggest mistake of your life? Well you did!"
"You're going too far!"
"Not quite enough, and if you can't bear my coddling, that's fine by me !" She cried. "Perhaps Rhett was right then! I wash my hands off you! All of this, and it is me you can't bear? Me, who was always on your side?"
Yes ! Yes ! Scarlett felt the thrill of the confrontation, of a bubble of tension finally bursting, letting out every rotting bit that had been lingering in there. This was the truth, and, like her own father, Scarlett realized she could not bear to see those she cared about weak, for she never had been at ease with comforting anyone. This, she understood better. There, all masks were off, and she did not need to be anything more than she was. But more important, it meant she had finally seen Melanie at her worst, Melanie without her bright pleading eyes and sweet face. Finally, Melanie was standing up to her, and for that, even if she was still begrudgingly admitting it, she was glad. Her friend was strong and so was she !
They were all red-faced from the confrontation, Melanie's complexion suddenly darkening as she felt mortified with her own outburst and anxious to reconcile so that this abominable conflict be behind them, and Scarlett's with the drums of outrage still ringing at her temples, a part of herself even more outraged to see the fight leaving her friend. Tears filled Melanie's eyes with regret.
Oh, no. Scarlett pursed her lips. Melanie lowered her gaze.
"No. no, you're right. Scarlett… Oh, I know I am angry with the wrong person and I'm so…"
Seeing her come in anguish to her somehow looked like an insult.
"Don't you dare coming after me now!" Scarlett hissed. "You would make angrier, with you giving up so quickly!"
Melanie's eyes blinked once and her hands reached out for Scarlett so desperately that she had to give in and lean on as well, the exhaustion
"Darling… I don't understand…"
"Oh, Melanie! Scarlett hissed. "You always have to be the sweet one, haven't you? Well, I won't have it! Don't you have any fire in your bones?"
"Scarlett, it is ridiculous…"
"Yes it is!"
She could not help but laugh, a weary laugh that fell in saccades, but that felt almost free.
Life was already hard enough, and suddenly it all seemed so silly. Why all the cries?
Yes, fighting felt good. It was laying bare something that was still lingering, untold, rotting inside, and Scarlett was not one to bear it quietly. But just as she had felt the thrill of it, so came the realization that even if Melanie was strong, possibly as strong as she, she would never understand the rightness of it. Her guilt would always plague her, and she would be left even weaker as she had been before. It burst her bubble that she had carefully crafted.
They breathed in and out together, hands touching, trembling as they tried to lean onto each other.
"Oh, you are right. You shouldn't be angry at me. I'll go, for you so want me to. But it won't change the fact that you are the one that made the wrong decision. "
Melanie's chin lowered, and ahead of her sad, lovely face, the chignon seemed like an overgrown mushroom.
"I know."
"You know, and you still blame me?"
The poor girl shook her head.
"No, I don't!... Well, maybe a little. You can be a little tyrannic, you know… With you... I had believed it so, and I know I wouldn't have believed it as much if you hadn't supported me in this. I wouldn't have believed I could choose and be happy with it. And now, it is gone...
"By your decision."
Another shake of the head, and a few strands of chestnut hair fell from the chignon, laying piteously on her cheeks.
"Oh, Scarlett, you must understand... I had to do this! He looked at me in the eyes, and told me what he should do, and I... Oh, how could I live with the idea that he might resent me for not letting him go, now that he could do something to honor his friend's memory?"
"What is this story?"
"That is right, you don't know... Oh, Scarlett!"
She fell on Scarlett's knee, all trembling and tenderly gripping, and her little voice told a story of friendship, misunderstandings and regrets that seemed so very ridiculous to Scarlett, who could not think Melanie had to give up on the man she loved in favor of a girl who had chosen and regretted, and who hadn't even made any effort to get it right by herself, which she would have respected.
Green eyes blinked, bewildered as the hands of their beholder raised in utter confusion of what they should do, while Melanie lay her heart out to her.
"This is ridiculous," Scarlett could not help but say.
Melanie cried harder, and she felt her irritation grow. She was not meant to bear such scenes! She could barely afford it for herself, so for another?
"Oh, now, you're all defeated! Everyone makes wrong decisions. I've made many. You can't be different of anyone else, Melly, that would be very presumptuous of you!"
Melanie let out a soft, weak little whine.
"I... Thank you, Scarlett for your brutal honesty."
"Oh, I can give you some brutal…!"
Without leaving her time to protest, Melanie took her in her arms. Scarlett softened immediately, her lids lowering in defeat as she felt all the tension in her body leave in the embrace. Melanie's arms were warm and soft, but with very fragile bones, like that of a bird, and her tone was a little bit anxious.
"Could I-please… hold you in my arms just a little more? So that I know I haven't lost your friendship…"
Scarlett snorted, and the unladylike sound startled for a moment Melanie, and almost made her feel ashamed for the lack of control. But then, her friend giggled, her body lost all tension, and it felt alright. She was not in public, with people judging her for every little thing that she could do.
"Melanie… you really are a very silly girl. Don't punish yourself so. You don't have to bear any burden at all, she chided, and after a while decided to lean back, taking her most mutinous expression. I'll come back, and I better see you smile, or else I'll throw a fit that will make Aunt Pitty swoon for days."
Melanie's lips cracked through tears, the light coming back in her eyes.
"Now, that would be mean."
"I am the mean one, aren't I?"
Her smile widened, and she let out a little, happy laugh.
"There! I think I finally know it."
"What is it?"
"The thing you have from Rhett Butler."
A perplexed brow rose, ready to be outraged. However, the outrage was not entirely felt as much as the curiosity, and the need to understand what still failed her.
"Meanness?"
"No, my silly girl. The needling. The pushing in so many ways until the other gives in and is faced by the truth. Though, for you, I don't think you entirely are aware of it. No, you are too impatient, my darling, to ponder about it. Nor are you taking pleasure to do it. It's like you feel something, and you have to dig until it snaps…"
Scarlett huffed. That was certainly not what she expected.
"You're being ridiculous. God's Nightgown! Am I like a dog, to smell everything that is wrong?"
"No! of course no! But… you have that uncanny ability to hit precisely where others don't want to look… and there is such a restlessness in you, especially when you're onto something," She wiped the remains of her tears and let her eyes fell on their joined hands. The rest was left in whispers. "And you are onto something. I know it. But i cant look at it. Not now."
She sighed with a mournful expression on her little face.
"I feel like… ever since he went away, I'm not myself at all. I try to hide it, for no one should have to bear my ill humor, but then it's like every little thing comes crashing on me, and I become a bitter, angry person. And I don't like it. And I cannot have you always by my side, for you are the reminder of the biggest mistake in my life. when you raise your eyes on me, and I know you are angry at me too, I can't help it. Oh, Scarlett, I don't want to be that person !"
"Then I can be it for two. I know I am angry at the world these days."
She raised her luminous eyes to her for a moment, alarmed.
"Oh, don't be angry for me. You have so much to look forward ! I… I envy you, Scarlett. You will get married and have a family with Captain Butler and Wade. To be a mother and a wife !"
She smiled, and tucked herself back to Scarlett's breast like a child seeking comfort from its mother. But Scarlett knew by now that innocence was deceptive, especially when these big brown eyes looked up to her, and the voice turned soft. "No, if anything, you have to be happy for both of us. I shall be happy knowing at least you got your happy ending."
She turned in dismay, shaking her head with the feeling of guilt and vexation.
"Oh, Melanie !"
A soft hand rested on her cheek, soothing, but the eyes were delighted. Delighted over her victory.
"Oh, my darling, you are crying for me ! Now, I know I must be strong."
She gritted her teeth . Telling Melanie her own piece of mind about it would be selfish.
It should have been you, being happy for the both of us. Why do i have to bear this, she thought, when I know I can't have it ?
"You don't understand… you don't understand…"
Melanie's brown eyes lit with a sudden sharp note.
"I understand that you wanted me to be happy, because you thought you could not. That 's why it was so important to you, wasn't it ?" She replied quietly. "Scarlett, how can you not see ? I can never understand how one that has so much to look forward could be so blind to it! Now, i want you to understand it the same way. Could you please give me that hope ?"
Startled, Scarlett gritted her teeth, but under her very serious gaze, she begrudgingly nodded. Let her believe what she wanted, if only she would drop it!
Still, that trick that she also knew herself for having used it, was very effective.
A poor girl, indeed! She was cunning, behind her sweet face!
Melanie beamed.
"Yes, sweetheart, for you, all will be alright. I love you, and to think I will be able to see you thrive… my heart feels à little lighter."
They stayed there for a moment, listening to the remains of the night. The owl's cry, the hushed voices in the street... Even at night, Atlanta was busy, alert like a soldier preparing for battle.
War never stopped for a wedding, they should have known.
Melanie's voice came out, cutting them from the unrest. It was soft and wondering.
"Some grow up quickly, and seem grown fully, so wise and knowing of the way of life, but they are just still children underneath. Some don't seem to grow one bit, and yet they manage to surprise us in moments of truth."
Scarlett's brow quirked. Why, hadn't they had enough talking?
"What are you on about ?"
"You surprise me, Scarlett. Once… forgive me to say it, darling, you would have just left as soon as I would have said or done something you did not like, and stopped talking to me for weeks."
"And how do you know I don't intend to do it as soon as I can?"
Melanie grinned sheepishly.
"Because it's not the first time it happens."
Scarlett blinked for a moment, then shrugged.
She realized then it was the same with Rhett. Once, she had been the one to try to leave first, and he had been the one to have the last word. And now, she was coming to realize maybe before he had just been as adamant as leaving as her. He just had been more enduring.
She was realizing Rhett had always wanted to leave. This was something she would have to live with. Why he always seemed to come back, she still couldn't fathom it. Him coming back was perhaps more painful than him leaving, for it always brought a hope that could never be fulfilled.
Well, Rhett is a coward, she thought. That, I know now. And perhaps I was… a little. That would need to change. In fact, it is already changing.
Lord, how satisfying it felt to call Rhett a coward. It was a balm to her heart. However, it did not solve her situation.
She clenched her fist.
"Once, you would not have smiled," Melanie insisted. "Please keep smiling."
"Once, you wouldn't have dared opposing me on anything, nor raised your voice. I'm not sure i like that change," she teased.
Melanie let out a little chuckle and released her. Dawn had finally come.
"I'll see you soon, Scarlett."
Scarlett nodded, but her pout still couldn't hide the vexation of not having had her own way.
"I'll see you soon, Melanie. Don't let yourself be bullied. Only I get to do that. And rest. You look dreadful."
"I promise."
She was about to insist but was prevented from adding anything else by a very nervous Carreen, who obviously had stood for a moment behind the door, trying to gather the courage to knock. Melanie nodded and left them, and Scarlett swiftly joined her, smoothing the wrinkles of her skirts with a sigh. She closed the door softly and lingered for a moment, her hand on the handle.
The truth was that she was not entirely ready to come home now, she realized. Now that she was faced with it, she felt unsure, needing the comfort of a refuge, while unknowing what she might find there.
Take your fill of clay...
She shook her head. Her jaw was tight, almost painful.
"Carreen, just say what you want to say. Even I can feel your unrest."
Her youngest sister froze, and suddenly her words burst out from her mouth, and Scarlett had to ask her to repeat them more clearly to make sense of it.
"Is it true? She's really gone?"
Oh, again with that old question! Scarlett had enough of it, and it showed so much on her face that Carreen refrained from asking anything else and lowered her head like a scolded child. This put a restrain on Scarlett's ire, as she tried to soften her tone.
"Oh, Carreen, you will need to smile, and not stare at me with such big eyes! Or else I shall always think I am an ogre to you as well!"
"Oh, no, of course you're not..."
It was obviously what she thought! Scarlett scowled. And she who wanted to be nice and collected!
"Then, do you want to come with me, Carreen ?"
"Oh, no. I want to stay here a little more… Pa will be angry and Mother distraught, and I can't… you have more strength than I, Scarlett. Here… i feel useful."
Scarlett did not try to hide her vexation. First Melanie, and then Carreen was also giving up on her!
"You're always ill."
"I know. I seem to catch easily diseases. However… I feel it is my place. And Dr. Meade is always so kind."
Well, perhaps that old gentleman was indeed kind, Scarlett reflected. However, it was no reason to keep her baby sister working to the bone!
Perhaps she should talk to him...
She envisaged it seriously, but before it could even take roots in her mind, Carreen changed subject, and her thin arms softly linked with Scarlett, leaning on her with the tenderness of a little child.
"I feel pity for Frank Kennedy," She said. "To be so rejected..."
Scarlett huffed.
"Well, would you marry that old ninny ?"
"Why, no ! But still, I feel sad. Everyone should have their own happiness."
"Happiness is never guaranteed," Was her bitter reply, as she formulated, a lump formed in her throat, and she tried to focus her attention on something she could touch, something that could never disappoint her. Besides, she felt sure that Carreen would agree most heartedly, not as Melanie who chose to only see the optimistic side of it.
Her little sister did not protest, but her head tilted as if weighted down and her eyes were unfocused as she stared ahead.
"But what is happiness ? What is it truly ?"
Carreen's hand came on her chin and she continued, bent and so very deep in her thoughts she seemed unreachable. The skirts stopped fluttering for a moment, halting them both.
"I suppose nobody knows until they find it. I have felt… sometimes so disconnected with life. As if I'I was in a cloud, watching others, hoping I might get it. But now, when I go see these men that need me, and I know what is to be done… it is something more, and I feel as if I'm something more than myself .. Not a girl, nor a woman. I am a being, and they are other beings, like me, and they need me… it is so real, and so… alive! Oh, I know I can't explain myself properly…"
The poor girl was suddenly red with embarrassment, her dark eyes fluttering from one thing to another with nervous energy. Scarlett stared at her, for a moment wondering how she could not have realized Carreen was so awkward in words and behavior.
Was it a consequence of Brent's death? No, the raven-haired lady pondered, she had always been like that. A strange mixture of girlish dreams and strange little thoughts, little curiosities that had never come to Scarlett's practical and unimaginative mind.
She, who had always kept to herself… suddenly, it did not seem only as a mere shyness.
"You are quite a queer girl, Carreen," Scarlett could not help but say, the awkwardness like a disease she was beginning to feel the contagion of.
"Is it, truly ? Queer ?" She murmured shyly.
"Quite queer. But endearingly so. Who knew behind that frailness, there was something so intense ? No wonder Brent was taken with you!" Carreen flushed. "However, I feel you still have your feet a little bit too high up the clouds," she teased. "Please do come down a little to eat, at least. You are so frail I can see your bones."
"Oh, you're talking like Mammy !" The younger girl laughed. It died in loving remembrance as she continued, her voice almost a whisper. "Dearest Mammy. You've always been the favorite, while she always had to worry about me."
"She used to say you were like a bird. One could never catch your attention for long."
"She did ? Well, if she said so, perhaps it is true. I do tend to forget many things, and I could never truly learn like you and Suellen. Please tell her I do miss her and eat well."
"You know she would see the lie."
"Then just send my love."
"I will."
They kissed each other's cheeks and smiled, and the more time lingered and people came to wish her a good journey, the more it felt to Scarlett like the beginning of some farewell to something she was not yet ready to let go. The lingering illusion of peace they had created around themselves, perhaps, shattered like glass ever since Melanie decided to let her fiancé go to find another. Aunt Pitty had the grace not to look too triumphant, so blind she was that what had been broken would affect her own life even more than if it had never been broken at all. But there was a giddiness in her voice, even as she talked of Melanie's bereaf. She was obviously glad nothing would change. How wrong she was! Everything was bound to change.
It was wearying for Scarlett to wait and hear it all before departing. It tried on a patience already tested many times during the day.
Then, it was time for Randa, and she was almost tempted just to ignore it completely, even if it had least had the benefit of getting them rid of Miss Pittypat's presence, who argued feebly that goodbyes always brought her to swoons.
She froze, then gave her a sidelong glance, and the auburn-haired girl turned her head pridefully.
But regret was eating Randa Tarleton, and she found herself at lost about what she should do. She was no creature to bear regret easily, nor to admit she had came to the wrong conclusion.
"Scarlett," She finally tried. "I know I did wrong..."
"I know you do, and it is quite a vexing thing…" Scarlett replied, letting her lingering for a moment longer with spite heavy on her lids. Yet, the corner of her lip was already lifting. "… that I cannot fault you. After all, you did it for Hetty and Melanie."
Randa's eyes opened wide, and she stared at her acutely.
"The world was really turned upside down, if you are the one to say so. But I'm sure you delighted in making me doubt."
"I sure did. Though you were a fool for believing what you did."
"I knew you would not be able to stay nice long ! Though I had expected you to scream."
"Haven't we grown up enough ?"
Randa nodded, still examining her, before grinning.
"You did. I know you want me to say it. A little, at least. And yes, perhaps I need to do it too, stop glaring at me !"
"I'm not glaring. You are imagining things ."
"Fine. This is most certainly quite a pretty little face you are making at me."
Scarlett huffed loudly, but stayed there, waiting.
"He came to see me," Randa said softly. "He came to ask me how Hetty was, how was her baby…"
She sighed.
"I did make quite a mess of things, didn't I ?"
"You did," Scarlett shrugged, a bit appeased by the admission. "But in the end, she is the one that decided to let him go."
"They both decided. I should be happy... i should be satisfied. If he is indeed the man he claims to be, perhaps then my sister will be safe."
"If she accepts him."
"She would be a fool not to, with her… peculiar situation. You did it too once, didn't you ?"
"This is not the same."
"How so ?"
"You are asking me ? Charles Hamilton at least came from a big family. No one would have questioned where he came from. No one had to question me."
"Perhaps you are right."
"I know I am right," Scarlett stated haughtily. "I do hope you are staying. Melanie will need you."
"You mean I have to. Yes, I understand I do. Things are on the way, there is not much i can do for my own sister, but if I can anything for Melly, I will."
She stared at Scarlett.
"She did ask you to leave her alone and not guard her like a dog, didn't she ?"
Scarlett flustered.
"Good girl. I knew we would have some influence over her. She has but very few respect for herself."
"Ah, I am not an ogre !"
"But you do tend to be quite authoritarian."
"Don't let her pity herself. That is all I ask."
Randa smiled at her.
"Don't worry for that."
Innocently, she took her arm and conspiratorially whispered in her ears, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Another thing, Scarlett… there is a gift in the doorway from your Mr. Butler. Are you going to open it ?"
A scowl could have been her only reply, but Scarlett felt it was not enough to mark her annoyance.
"I don't want it."
"But you do…"
She bit her lip.
"I doubt it is a gift of pomegranates, if that's what you are worrying about."
"Of what ? Never mind, I'm sure he would do it, if only for a joke. He knows pomegranates are difficult to eat, and it would just ruin any gown I have."
He would, the devil! He would delight in the possibility, if only to tease her after!
And when he teased her... When he teased her...
" Take care of yourself , Scarlett," Randa brought her back to reality. "And don't let the gossips, nor your fiancé take your smile."
Scarlett nodded, but the defeat still lingered.
She had to admit it. She had loved Rhett -still loved him, so stubborn was her heart- and had wanted to give all of her to him, but he would never give all of him. Never had. One moment, she would think she was about to grasp his essence, the other, he would slip through her fingers. She had to admit it, yes, and accept defeat. She could never have all of him. He would not let her. She was not even sure he would be able to, his whole being so effervescent and defiant.
Wade, dear heart, was of a similar nature, though little he was. She would never know if in her longing she had made him that way, or if he had been all the time.
They were like that, and she couldn't expect anything else from them.
Yes, she had to admit it. She had to accept it. It would be the proper, rational choice.
The more she would repeat it, the more it would work.
She hoped.
But her own being was not one to accept defeat. Rhett Butler, by refusing to give her love, was still the biggest challenge in her life, she thought and for a moment, she tried to tell herself she loved him because he was it. However, she felt it was too deeply rooted in her for that reason to be so.
No, the biggest challenge was in herself, in her unwillingness to let anything go.
But she would. She would !
"Scarlett…"
"What is it now ?"
"May I eat it if it's chocolate ?"
Scarlett threw the box without a thought, with the swiftness of a cat. It fell on the thin carpet, little pieces of chocolate dispersing and melting with the heat. They looked at each other, and Randa let out a joyful laugh.
There, the goodbyes, strangely long, ended, leaving Scarlett alone with her son before they were finally taken. She never reflected she herself had invited it, so anxious she was of coming back. Her gaze turned to Wade, tried to take strength in the health of his chubby cheeks and dark skin.
"It seems like it will be only the two of us, Wade, back to Tara."
And then, surprising her, Wade beamed at her. Her heart warmed to the crookedness of the smile with its two perfect white teeth, and the genuine gleam of joy in his dark eyes.
She grinned with him. Perhaps like she, he felt the need to go home, and see the good red earth of Tara, see its people and their ways.
Even if it could never be like before.
She shuddered.
"What do you think we should find there ?" She whispered.
.
.
.
Dawn crept through the windows of Belle's house on Decatur Street, revealing scenes of lingering disarrays that went from a good old night of feasting and drinking. The curtains were still drawn to avoid the pain the light brought.
Belle's extravagance had been put into restreints under Rhett's guidance, with a sufficiently clean, harmonious appearance to attract the right clientèle. It was colorful, but not tastelessly so. Until then, it had been quite a fruitful affair, rich in informations. It was a shame it had to end.
Rhett was sat on the sofa, and had a stranger watched him, they would have believed he was idly waiting for the madam to prepare his coffee, if not for the very obvious energy that radiated his body, and the sharp, calculating gaze he laid on the woman.
"That was quite a very mean and most of all quite obvious thing to say, Belle. Telling her about your son, trying to sow doubts into her mind. First the handkerchief, now this. Did you not think i would find out ?"
"I sure don't know what ye be talkin' about…"
"Belle, Belle, Belle... What should I do with you? I don't want to be cruel to you."
As he said so, the madam quitted her act and put the pot down. Her eyes were bright as she met his, and there she seemed almost like a girl asking for her father's love.
"I love yah... You know I do!"
"Love was not what you sought when you found me. "
"No... No, I wanted yer money, and ye knew people. As ye used me, I used yah. But I do love yah. And... Ye helped me son... Surely, ye must love me a lil bit? At least more than her !"
He had that very nonchalant, gently mocking half smile of his.
"Oh, Belle, while I do esteem you, I will not lie to you, and I find it very unseemly you would ask me so considering our situation. We are very old friends. Scarlett is my wife."
"Not yet!" She retorted swiftly, her eyes glaring, not at him, but at the mis fortune that placed her here instead of the other woman's place, who she considered as a brat.
"If not precisely now, it is bound to be, I'm afraid. I won't have you stirring trouble for me. Else, I fear I would have to end things between us in a way you wouldn't like, my dear. I would cut you out."
She went still.
"But... Me girls would be homeless..."
"I've told you once. It is a very dangerous thing to rely only on one person. I told you if you took no care, you would be deprived because of your lack of anticipation. You did not listen," Rhett chided with a soft voice. "You are a clever woman, Belle. I am getting married. Such bonds can't allow the same liberties as that of a free man."
"So, it's her fault, then! She makes you do that! Else, you wouldn't…" She began, reddening, before faltering. "Oh, if you wanted it, you would… you wouldn't care!"
A smile crept through his lips.
"Finally a word of sense. I would," he said silkily. "But see, Belle, the more this discussion goes on, the less I find interest in doing so. In fact, it does bore me. Should we continue or should I leave you to think about it?"
"She did tell me… she did tell me… you would do as you want, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, it is she who told you that? Interesting."
She did know him, after all. Was she a bit jealous still? He remembered the taste of it on his tongue, of her fierceness.
He would tease her about it. One day. When the anger would fade, and she dropped her weapons.
"So, this be the only thing that interests you? Her?"
He shrugged.
"And why the hell not?"
"She's just a girl, and a very vain and foolish at th-."
His eyes narrowed, and the dark became cold as swiftly as thunder.
"Just a girl?" He hissed. "If you were not so old a friend and a woman, I would slap you for that! Do you really think that I could be caught just by a vain, foolish girl? Then, I would have had you."
Belle took a step back, stricken.
"You've... Never been that way. "
"Not with you, no. I've never needed to," he said; or rather he never cared enough to be hurt by her actions. But now that it touched him through Scarlett, he was not to let her be an obstacle to what he wanted most. "But I see I have to repeat myself with you and it's becoming tiresome. Know this now, Belle. I do hate people meddling with my affairs. If I have to send a dozen whores to the streets to have peace, know that I will do it quite gladly."
The words were cruel, but he had to be. Else, his point would never be made.
The red-haired madam paled. Her rouge and rice powder seemed an even thicker layer on her face now, and Rhett almost wanted to take pity. But his pity was perhaps crueller than any word he could throw at her.
Belle lowered her head. She was defeated.
"I've been quite a fool, indeed. Fine. You won't have that poor ol' Belle burdening you, nor her son. But for that…"
"Now, we're talking. How much do you want?"
The transaction was done quickly, as he cut her out of his life, and when he was done, there was as much the relief of being rid of a load that had been becoming more an additional burden than anything else, as the nostalgy of a relationship that had had its soothing moments. Belle was a kind person at heart, a good ear.
Perhaps too much of a good ear.
Of course, she would have thought she could change him. Kind persons, even perverted by a cruel reality, always wanted to believe others were like them, only misunderstood. Belle Watling was one of these simple souls brought to her depravation by circumstances, and he sure did pity her. Yet, for him, pity was the murderer of love. He was no man to confuse one for the other.
Thus, he had no regret when he came back to his hotel, no regret other than that he should have done so earlier and found another way to get what he wanted without having to rely on a woman and her feelings.
He looked at the sky, trying to find the lingering stars, and they seemed dulled to his eyes, their light insignificant compared to the sparkles in his Scarlett's green ones.
His Scarlett. Scarlett O'Hara. Scarlett Butler. With a change of name, suddenly, it did not seem the same, and that name, that he thought he hated once, had another flavor, a sense of belonging that he had not thought he would bear, but that now that it was there, could not help but crave it. It was hers, and she was his, or soon to be, and he would defy anyone to contradict him. Ross was presumed dead, and Rosemary, as a girl, could not carry the name. He doubted any man would accept to give his up for hers, no matter how his father would bully him. He doubted even if Rosemary would ever be able to marry, for who could be considered a suitable match for his daughter to a man so full of pride ?
What was in a name ? Oh, so many things. It was a bond he had despised, for it felt like a whip in his father's hand when he was home in Charleston. It was then the only thing he had left with when he was forced away from it, à thing he had wanted to believe as sellable than any cloth he had on his back. But it had always been here, sticking to him, a part of his identity he thought he could bear to be without, but was realizing that he çould not do so easily.
There is only me now, father. What are you going to do now ?
A strange mixture of apprehension and expectation came over him, tickling his spine powerfully. There was a terrifying excitement in imagining the Great Butler, great slave of his own name and the honor he thought associated with it, having to come bowing to his eldest son, demanding he took it back.
He wished he could laugh at that. There was some humor in it, he could feel it. However, for now, he could not find it.
He shook his head. No, his father would more surely shoot himself rather than having to come to him. But it was a satisfying image nonetheless.
What he wanted, he would take it. He needed no permission. His own father could stay on his high horse and point his fingers, but it would not change the fact that it was his, and it was hers, and it was their son's…
He felt a deep falter in his soul.
Should have been their son's…
It was a blow that had hit its mark, often dismissed, tickled in words, and now there was this empty time, à time without her, and he could not help but reflect on it.
Could he rewrite history ? Turn back the wheel of time to have it right where everything should have begun, grasp every minute, every second, pull them like a thread till he found her love and kept it? To that moment, that unique moment when she went to him, so lovely and naïve, at her father's cottonhouse, and asked him to love her. He wanted that moment back, wanted to stay with her and keep her in his arms. To smother her with kisses until she finally admitted she loved him, and not that weak thing of Ashley Wilkes, or any other.
Oh, she had led him on on that one ! But he would not let himself be taken again !
To think she had thought herself in love with him , and he had not seen it, not seen that opportunity that could turn an idea to reality… that for a moment, she had thought of him as something more than her former, older playmate. To think he could have had what he wanted long ago…
No, what was done was done. But he'll make her again. With them both irremediably bound to one another, how could she not at least grow a little fondness?
A little fondness… somehow, the words seemed weak, a crumb of her affection, when he wanted the whole meal.
Would she like his name? He found himself wondering for a moment, before berating himself. Anyone would love that name, he reflected with a dark irony. Any fool. To some, they had the highness of royalty, and he, as well, had been proud of it once. Perhaps even now. He could use the name. It was an ancient name, a good name. The rest, the weight of the family lineage and its expectations, the role he was forced to play, he could very much do without.
What was the significance of bearing à man's name to a woman? Certainly, security, propriety. But what about the bonds that tied them together? That was the true question, wasn't it? He would want to tie her to him with that bond as if it were a ribbon. But she was so destructive, so careless and stubborn…
Would she care to have his name?
His body froze.
Though very much a practical woman, Scarlett was still very much as well a young woman.
She was still so young – too young -, and perhaps his biggest mistake had been in forgetting that. Every young bride must want to dream about her groom. However, what had he done to make her dream about him?
People were always more compliant when they thought the idea was theirs, and he certainly had used that knowledge to his profit more than once, to the point where he had grown cynic of the weak self-satisfaction and belief they had in deciding their whole lives.
Why hadn't he tried it with Scarlett?
He froze. He had tried, hadn't he? At the measure of his own honesty, for he was no man to bear being seen as another thing than he was. And yet… had it done any good?
He had tried, and she had not been quite caught, or had she?
How many times had she thrown his words back at him? Had she rebuffed him?
How many times had she caught him unaware, either by a smile or by her fury…
Scarlett O'Hara disarmed him, he, the man who under his cool exterior had always kept his weapons close and ready to fire. He could hide away the wounds as if they weren't here at all, but they were it, and he knew it. And the most unsettling thing of all was that he had been the one to put the weapon in her hand, for he certainly would not have been so out of his depth if he hadn't had a hand in shaping the woman she was.
Just a girl? He thought again with a renewal of the offense ringing in his ears. How could anyone think he was so out of his depth about just a girl ? That woman was several women at once. The lovely child in need of love. The flirty little thing. The cunning little chick. The femme fatale. The mother. The mischievous friend…
Scarlet was a woman, his woman. She was his pride, his joy. She was his wrath and sorrow. She was perfect because he knew her imperfections and loved them anyway, no, loved her even more because of them. Her flaws meant he would never have to feel undeserving.
They should have .
He groaned.
God, one would think it would have made the perfect companion for him, his having had a hand in her growth, and perhaps it had. But it certainly made for the perfect adversary if she found in herself the care to try, and he hated it. He hated it because it unsettled him. He hated it because it made him afraid, when he had always found the feeling so beneath him. Afraid because it was more than her, and more than him, and it implied things he had thought resolved were just wounds overlooked, but never truly healed.
But also afraid she could become more than him and he would be left unable to follow.
Just as he thought it, he realized she was becoming the woman. Something that was out of his grip, uncontrollable and independent. And it was through no true fault of hers, for he made her so.
And it terrified him.
It was one thing to leave while knowing she would still be there, at reach. It was another to leave and not be sure she won't have made her own way without him.
As she already had.
He felt the weight of this thought cold on his guts, and it suspiciously looked too much like powerlessness.
With her, he was as much a boy as he was a man, and he would have greatly left the boy behind, dismissed his weaknesses in favor of the vision of a troublemaker who always was quicker in thought, for the boy, he could admit it now, alone and drunk in his own thoughts, was not as satisfying as he would have liked.
He never was, and with time, he had learnt he never would and certainly did not want any of it. Expectations had the fatal flaw to increase the more they were met with satisfaction. It was a rope around one's neck, that was pulled each time people thought they were not met.
So he resolved, from a young age, not to be perfect for his mother. Not at all for his father. He had cut his ties to that, and called it ludicrous. It was ludicrous. He had defied it with every ounce of his body, had enjoyed defied it.
Yes, she… she was the girl he liked and the woman that fascinated him more than anyone in the world. She was the wild little cat in need of love and he wanted to give all of the affection that was in his heart, and she was the Delilah to his Samson, waiting for his weakness to strike, and he had to face it. He found himself as perplexed as a boy in how to place her, even knowing her as he fully trusted he did.
He could not bear the helplessness of it!
Had he ever unsettled her as much, her natural bursts of fiery temper, the temper of the Irish that he so loved to tickle aside?
He closed his eyes forcefully and tried to think on it. Tried to push the woman out of his mind, to see the girl underneath.
What had he missed? What could he have missed? What else could be hidden in the clarity of her look?
Some little cracks in her armor, a little, shivering light in these green eyes he adored. Had her voice sometimes broken when she was with him? Had her lip trembled, her lids fluttered unknowingly, without the pretense of coquette?
He thought it so. No, he knew so.
But why was it easier to think of it only now?
Well, he reflected. Before, the ring was not on her finger, nor the words said to the world. But now, it was perhaps the thing he was most certain of, though the fact that it was not out of love for him was a cruel irony to his wishes – god, to have wishes like these when he knew better! – and it left à damned bitter taste in his mouth.
He ran his fingers through his hair, letting the smooth strands fall to his eyes as he let out a frustrated groan.
God, why was it that his mind was clearer when she was far from him?
Yet, far from her, it was his heart that was bleeding. A heart she had stung many times like a charming little bee.
His feet found the way, his fingers reached for the box that had been delivered on the morning, played absentmindedly with the ribbon. Then, quickly, it was pulled, and the knot untied. A tremor came over his body, and with a swift, cutting move, he opened the box.
Before him was the wedding gown of his bride. A folly of flounces and fringes that would flutter by each move.
Too much to be entirely proper, not enough to be subjected to censure. It was playful and young, just as she had been once. The girl who once threw a peach at him, and fell into his arms.
Madness, all of it, his conscience berated him.
Love, cried his heart.
What other proof she could need, that he intended to be patient with her ?
Between his mind and heart, why did she force him to choose ? He could not live without his heart. Yet, without his mind, he was nothing more than an animal.
And a animal, she made of him, coming and going, always watchful of any threat, of any hope, the two blurred in his mind as if they were the same thing. He knew it, knew the foolishness of it, of everything. But he couldn't stop it. It flew in his veins with the tinging sweetness of absinth, and when it was gone, he craved more. He who had sworn he would never be a craven.
He could face her as an animal. He could lay his claim and seduce her, and he knew she would bend under his touch like a soft purring cat. But that was her heart he wanted, and her mind, and if he seduced her, they might elude him, dismiss his desire as mere hunger for flesh.
Well, he did hunger for her flesh. But what was her flesh if she was not here to enliven it ? A pretty, attractive little shell, sweet, innocent-looking. It lacked the fire of her passion, the cunnings of her mind. And the deep, firm loyalty of her soul that he wanted her to bestow on him again.
He leaned in, primitively embracing the cloth, burying his nose in it, as if trying to smell her essence in it. His hands found the tiny waist and lightly squeezed it, his mind picturing the fabric as it would fit his bride, how it would cling to the roundness of her breasts and shoulders, how the little red bow on the cleavage would draw attention to the délectable red of her lips, lips like eyes, like hands, that had the terrifyingly humbling, infuriating power to give him what he wanted only if they so wished it. Something he could not just take and be damned with it. His fists clenched. God, how he craved for her love, even while doubting it ! How he craved for her touch ! Just a gentle touch, just that little hand, tender, on his cheek ! What power could that gentle touch have !
His nose could not find the scent he sought. His skin could not find any warmth in the cloth. However, he could not help seeking it. He let his head fall into the silk, but it was not the silk that could ease his thirst.
"My sweet…" he whispered in the fabric. "My beloved."
Oh, won't she be sweet to him ?
His body shook, stirred by that absent présence of hers, à desire without à concreet object that could not give him any full satisfaction.
By this dress, he would tell her he would let her grow, run like a little girl. That he would accept her as she is. He would be patient. He would be gentle, as gentle as he could manage to be.
But also, that he saw her as she truly was. She could not hide from him. She was not to thwart him.
Though he certainly enjoyed seeing her try. He enjoyed it, especially because it proved him right. She was so like him!
And yet, she was something else, something he could not place.
Something that put her away from him.
His grip strengthened as he pressed harder, desperate, hungry.
He would not bear to let her try.
The fabric hissed under his ministrations. It awakened him.
His fingers had drawn a hole and he stared at it for a time, ashen.
It would need to be repaired .
He put the gown back to its box, enveloped it carefully with its sheets of thin silk, and with its lid ornated with a bow, he enclosed his madness in, hoping it would take her as well.
His body leaned for a moment over that box, his fingers toying with the ribbon. Love me, she had said. Love me, he had said. And at these very specific times, none of them had truly anwered to that plea.
Slowly, his spine straightened and he felt himself again, the deep relief of being a man sure of himself and in control as the uncontrollable was put in a box.
Settling himself on the windowsill, he looked through the glass, to the red outside. Red like her name, like blood, and just like blood, he could feel her running down his veins, so vital and yet so deadly.
For once, Rhett Butler had allowed himself to dream. To dream of the nights when he would take his place beside her. To watch her lay down softly beside him, with her lustrous black hair spreading around her and the delicious scent of magnolia like a shot to his heart everytime she moved, watching her vivid green eyes lay on him before he closed them with kisses.
To dream of the mornings when these eyes would open and lay on him once again, the sweetness of her face alit with that same cunningness that had so intrigued him at first. When she would be tucked in his arms, all tension left from her body, with the filtered sun grazing their skins like a lover's caress. Limbs intertwined, skin against skin, heart against heart. To wake up to the feeling of her, of her warmth, her scent, her softness and her edges, and embrace it till he felt full of it…
To bicker on the morning, watch her color raise, her short temper thrown at him, triggered by him. To reconcile on the evening, with the satisfaction of a peace well-earned.
Yes, they would bicker, he knew that. They never were quiet people. Theirs was a hot blood in their veins, a blood filled with passion that could only turn cold with scorn and pity. They bickered because they cared, and who knew what else could hide underneath ?
She could be so adorable when she was vexed, her brows knitted, and her lips pursing. He could gather all that sweet ball of nerves in his arms and kiss it, swallowing her halfhearted protestations.
So many kisses, wasted, that should have happened between them. After each discussion, each quarrel, each departure and return… they weighted on him like missed opportunities.
So many words, unsaid, terrifying words that could unsettle it all, and yet solve it all at the same time. Words calling for companionship, acceptance and love.
Love.
A dream so sweet. A dream like any hope. Easy to be crushed. He was not used to live on hope, but still she brought him back to it.
There was something magical about a love that had yet to be fulfilled, and perhaps would not be, he reflected. Something unpredictable and wild, begging to be realized.
He imagined her coming to his bed, quietly, all sheepish and unsure of her welcome, when in her anger, she had been dramatic and belligerent. He imagined kissing the sheepishness away, and laughing softly in the silk of her hair, as he pressed her against his body, and she drew comfort from it.
No matter how he loved her outbursts and passion, the thought that she could be repentant while seeking comfort from him was irresistible, and made him feel powerful, like his purpose as a man was fulfilled and the world was alright. A woman like her, allowing herself to be in the wrong, and laying her head on him so trustfully, looking at him like she relied on him totally… What a power it would be ! How he craved that power !
A cry, just à little cry, what would it take from her ? Just a little crack in her armour, à fault in her act. A little skin he could touch.
Scarlett would never be submissive. He did not want her submissive. However, he wanted her looks on him. He wanted her love, her stubborn loyalty and dévotion. He wanted to be everything to her. A shoulder to lean on. A friend. A lover. Family .
He wanted her laughter and her wanted her dépendance and her independance. He wanted her softness and her violence. He wanted her back to her sweet sixteen, when her eyes glowed for him. He had seen these eyes burn for him, and no man could recover from it.
And when reality came, with its routine and little disappointments, so was gone the madness of it.
He certainly hoped so.
He wanted all of her, and that want consumed him. He wanted her to have only him. She with her fluttering eyes. She with her little body he could cradle easily in his arms, her little heart that could beat so pleasantly against his own.
However, he doubted he could give all of him.
More than that, he doubted she would ever be able to take all of him.
After all, had a woman ever managed to take all of a man ?
There was still so much of him, and that much would never be satisfied being tied to one place. She, in contrary, would always be tied. Tied by her family, tied by her son. Tied by him also. It was as it should be, though being tied by him would certainly be better than what it was for other women. He would make her see he valued her intelligence, and he could make her raise, from that poor statut of powerless lady, to the fierce, fearless woman she was made to be.
A helper of women. That was what his mother had wanted him to be, she who was never able to raise her voice. Yes, he could certainly be the helper of Scarlett, he mused. He could make à queen out of her. If she only let him.
Because every queen needed a king, after all, to follow his guidance like law, for he was the one that made her.
As he thought it, to his mind it sounded ridiculous, and unrealistic. He could not help it though. It seemed like something right, something he was entitled to. Women were expected to rely on men, after all, while men weren't. It was something he had learned.
A helper of women, he could hear his father slightly mocking, as his mother's head fell back to her sewing. As if women needed help. No, they needed to be guided. What is à woman without à man to set her to the right path ? He remembered. Only disaster to mankind.
He kicked the foot of the table viciously.
By God, he did not like agreeing with his father. He sounded like a disappointed man clinging to old beliefs and unpratical and unrealistic rules.
However he couldn't deny Scarlett was potentially the biggest disaster that could have come to his life, and perhaps to others' when she decided to put her pert little nose into their affairs (though how he loved the chaos she produced !). A pretty little storm that had caught him unaware, and still managed to catch him back.
He cursed, pushing neatly the loose hair on his brow. He considered himself a modern man, able to look beyond prejudice and the traditional views.
He would be realist. Their marriage would be better than most, perhaps. It would be enough. It had to be enough. Setting up expectations could only lead to disaster for him.
But expectations were like pains in the neck. They kept coming at each turn, each little gleam of light in these beautiful green eyes.
the truth, he realized as he dismissed his previous thoughts, searching with all his vexation over having been caught to think like his father, was that he was afraid of her not wanting any of him. Afraid of her considering she did not need him, as he needed her.
Afraid, him !
His fist hit the furniture with deep frustration.
Even God cannot forget, nor forgive. Try to find someone who would want you, he remembered his father saying. Because I don't. We don't. Who would want you ?
Who would want you ?
Well, Rhett never wanted him anyway. Did not want their shallow ways, nor a world that could so easily dismiss him.
Kindness was seldom free, he had learned. Only fools give their kindness without waiting for anything in return.
He sat on the couch, a dark, bitter amusement in the corner of his mouth on the couch, the cushions softly hissing under his weight.
His brows furrowed.
And there was the boy.
God, there was the boy !
She had been right about it, as much as it chagrined him. She had the knack to spill truths that caught one unaware, and that with the talent of not realizing they were. He knew her enough to know it had been for her something to throw at him, hoping it would stick.
And stick, it did.
Yes, he hadn't sought to see the boy much. But how could he even begin to explain to her what for him was so very complex and enduring ?
It would all have been more simple had they had a daughter. A little princess he could spoil, and who would never question him.
But a son was something else entirely. A son brought so many expectations of a legacy he had always professed to despise. A son who made him realized what had been crossed so many times on the family Bible was still there, lingering, influencing him when he had thought himself well free and rid of it.
Wade was the reminder that he had left her, when he shouldn't have. He was the reminder of the biggest mistake in his life, and it glared at him with dark eyes, that were as much his as his father's, and his grandfather's before him. He was both curse and hope, and hope was a dangerous thing. A hope to set it right, à hope that bound them together, whether she liked it or not. Whether he liked it or not.
Oh, expectations… it always came to it, after all.
He was in a neverending circle. He knew it. But he could not get out. He could not get out ! That fact made his blood boil angrily, left him less than a man as he was forced to see the events unfold, all the same… a lion in a cage, a prisoner awaiting his judgement, hoping, dreading for what was to come.
The same dance, she had said once. It had taken time to digest, but he was sure now. She was in it as well. A maddening dance, à game of patience and endurance where he had to émerge the victor.
They were bound to dance around each other indeed, same steps after same steps, until they were back to the start and made it right.
But by God, how it was made difficult by her persistance ! She was too stubborn for her own good, and he knew she would fight him teeth and nails until she finally faced the truth. That they were meant to be together.
Only in all his drunkenness, he would allow himself to think such sentimentality. To think he had been led by something stronger than him. Something that had made him change his plan what seemed a long time ago. An apple thrown at him. A girl falling to his arms. A girl, becoming a woman, coming to him and asking her to love her in a cloud of cotton
Something that terribly looked like fate.
And she would refuse it, when he had tried so many times ?
Her friends were at fault as well, of course. They had encouraged her, petted her so that she felt she did not need anyone else. But he was here, and he intended to have his place in her life. He would not let them do any more damage. He had tried to be conciliant, but his last argument with Scarlett was the last straw.
Already, that little Tarleton had dug her grave by her intervention, and he knew his Scarlett enough to know that thwarting her in what she had thought her success could only lead to extreme vexation. Perhaps then, a little distance in that part was assured.
Miss Hamilton, for all shyness, sense of propriety and genuine good heart, was not to be dismissed as well. But she was a proper lady, and more likely thus to promote conciliation rather than rébellion.
In this war, everyone was the enemy, until victory was secured.
And he would do whatever it took to win.
.
.
.
Tara Plantation, in the afternoon
Gerald smiled as he saw Scarlett and Wade arrive, but his gaze went ahead, lost for a moment, until his head lowered in disappointment, his mouth uplift with a pout.
He seemed to shake himself as Scarlett stood, hesitant, and waved at her eagerly, a boy in his sixties that had still some of his Irish energy left.
Somehow, this made her sadder, as she let him take her in his arms and pat her back. His scent of tobacco and fine leather came to her nostrils, like the ghost of a loss she had yet to face, and even the buyant manner he welcomed her seemed a poor shadow compared to what it once was.
"Good day, me lass, good day. And to the little mescreant too ! Here come there !"
There, in his grand-Pa's arms, Wade erupted in a burst of laughter that caught his own mother so unaware she almost tripped on her own skirts.
It was a true boy's laugh, so very far from the little snickers, little cackles she was used to. She stood, amazed by it, until finally it felt like falling in love all over again. A wide smile spread through her flushed cheeks and her mind dazed for a moment. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh as well. But instead, she could only feel the break on her heart like an open wound that kept bleeding.
There he was, a boy like the others, perhaps darker than the others. No, definitely stronger, sharper, but still a boy, and for a fearful moment, she realized she did not own him. He owned her. Her body had held him and he had left his mark on her. Her mind laid around him, desperate to please him, and as for her heart… he sharpened his teeth on it, and still, she loved him.
One day, he would leave her. Yet, she would keep loving him. She would keep clinging to the laugh of that boy, and its memory would break her heart over and over again.
Perhaps love was made to be so, she thought. As sweet as it was painful. It built and it destroyed. It gave and it took. He was hers, and then he was not. Yet, she would still be always his.
But not only. The lids of her eyes fell, and the heaviness of her feelings threatened to overthrow her.
"Mah lam' !" Mammy scowled her as she took on her paleness and frailty. "You iz far too skinny. You has barly any skin on bone. Naw, doan you worry. Mammy will feed you good."
"I'm not hungry," Scarlett said quietly, but it came out faint and weary.
Mammy's eyes narrowed. This meant war.
"You iz eating everything until Ah say you doan ! And doan you look so bewildered, ah know you be thinking you could just give to baby Wade. Baby Wade be havin' his own big plate. Ah'll be watchin' ! And ef you think Ah be lettin you gettin' married when you is too skinny, you has another thin' goin' !"
"Even for a good for nothin' mule as yer misser", she grumbled under her breath.
Scarlett was however not listening as she raised bright eyes on the big, loving black woman. Her heart jumped in her chest. Home ! She was home ! Her home was still there !
"How I have missed you so !"
Her mammy stopped, her face frozen in flushed bewilderment, then swayed from one foot to another, uneasy at any outburst of émotion. Her love langage was made of berating and exclusive, specially overbearing caring. It demanded bowing, and she never expected such words. It still embarrassed her very much.
"Well. Well, Ah done miss you too. You is da most worrisome gurl ah've taken care of."
This was as close a declaration of love Scarlett would get in front of so many people, and after à long absence that made the old woman irritable.
"And misser Wade ! Naw, dat's a good boy ! You is ating your plate right, ain't you, misser ?"
Wade grinned with all his teeth, the grin of a pirate. The grin of his father. A grin that melted hearts and broke them at the same time.
"Mow !" He let out.
Mammy beamed.
"More ?" Naw I like to hear dat. We done have yams…"
"No yam !" He cut, his eyes fierce.
Her eyes reddened as she scolded for a moment, before her tone took a soft, warm and, purring quality to it.
"You be eating yams ! And den Mammy will got you a nice piece of cake."
Wade held up his little chin.
"Kekfurt."
"You lil'… alright, cake first."
Scarlett's head tilted, and she was almost dismayed. Mammy had never been quite so easy with her when she was little. No trick of hers would work.
But it seemed his did, and she couldn't even entirely find it an injustice, for it tricked her as well, his own mother.
Her irresistible, precocious little tyrant.
Just as she saw Mammy so completely melt over Wade, Scarlett knew that if she ever took the time to be with Rhett, he would turn that terrific, loving woman to his side as quickly as a girouette.
But then, wouldn't she, herself, if he said the right words ? Wouldn't her heart forget the pain, forget the anger and sadness ?
This was the unbearable truth. She sighed.
.
Observing it all unfolding quietly, Ellen O'Hara tried to keep a composure she found harder and harder to maintain.
Thank God she had recovered from her temporary lack of decorum. She was mortified at having lost so much control of herself.
However, she knew now Mr. O'Hara was warier. More worried.
Her members were still shaking, her hands tight as if in need of something to grasp, to anchor.
She was to stay strong.
At least, for the daughters that still depended on her.
It was a masquerade, all of this. A scene out a theater piece destined to hide the misery underneath.
She, Ellen, saw the tears that her daughter would not spill. She felt them as if they were hers. But it couldn't be, because she was no girl anymore to cry.
What was done was done. She would not break. She could not afford to. She opened her arms to her.
"Oh, my darling. Life is an ever-ending struggle, where men strive for power, and women have to face the outcome. You, forced to marry that man, your sister, lost to the world! How my heart breaks for you!"
Her daughter's bright, green eyes rose to hers, filled to the brim with the waste of her love.
A love doomed from the start.
The world shook again and she raised her hand, reaching out for safety.
.
Something broke in Scarlett as she felt her mother's hand on her. She felt like a little girl, waiting for her sorry to be soothed, and to be told everything would be alright.
"He keeps dragging back to it ! She could not help but whisper. I can't get out !"
Ellen pushed her to her arms. The sudden move startled Scarlett and she almost gasped.
Once, she had dreamed of being held like that by Ellen, so very fiercely, and she berated herself for not feeling the comfort she thought she would have. Instead, her words came back to her and she could not help but linger on them. Instead, she felt even more trapped.
Did he ? Or did she ? She was not quite sure.
No, she couldn't get out of this, even if she wanted to, even after being aware of it. That was the most infuriating thing, to know something is bound to go awry, know the sign, and yet there was no way to stop it. To love still, when you shouldn't, after everything that happened, everything that was said and done. Not to want to hope, to expect anything, when hope was life, when expectations could not be helped.
It was tiresome, that feeling of hers. Enduring when it should not, it seemed at its strongest when she wished it gone. It was too cold when she wanted warmth, and too hot when she needed freshness. It had grown in her heart, à promising Bloom, before turning into a bad weed, and now she had enough !
Now, far from Rhett, she wanted more. He would make her his wife, but she would not be his creature, bound to bow at his every demand !
Oh, she knew that if there was a chance he loved her, she would do anything for him. Even if it hurt.
That was what frustrated her the most.
This was no revélation. But it felt still like a threat, and once again she felt burdened by something that seemed about to eat little by little her own dignity and respect for herself if she did not pay any attention.
I want… i want to learn not to care, was what she wanted to say.
She had tried to. She was still trying. But indifférence was hard to get..
Ellen tightened her embrace.
"We shall overcome this together. That demon shall not have our souls."
It rang like a discordant note, and her eyes widened. Her heart froze, and there she felt it.
The great divide between her and her mother. A gulf she had always wanted to overlooked, and ended up ignoring. It had always been here, even when she thought she had overcome it, and now, as she thought she could finally lean on, it was there more than ever.
A demon, Rhett ? Scarlett had often thought of him with familiar words. But to hear it said from her mother was a very strange thing, something that made her think again. She wanted to shake her head and escape from that grip.
No! No! Rhett was no evil man! Sure, he did hurt her so, but she knew there was good... She knew...
But it was the strong, desperate nature of that grip that softened her, and cleared her of any wrath. She began to see the little wrinkles under her mother's eyes, on her brow and on her neck. She saw the shape of the veins on the hands that had been so small, so perfect.
She began to see death on her mother, and it stopped her for a moment.
Scarlett let herself be embraced by Ellen, but the feeling she was expressing was not hers, and now she could see it clearly. no matter what, her mother did not understand her. Perhaps she had never understood, and never would. However, Scarlett felt she had never loved her as much as when suddenly she was tangible and fallible. Ellen O'Hara was but a woman, like her, not à Saint to be worshipped. Her embrace was real.
So, she gave up on ever overcoming the divide between them. This was one thing she could afford to do, now that she had no choice but to accept it.
Ellen might never know her own daughter. However Scarlett had grown enough not to be disappointed in her. More than that, she was to be the one to bring comfort. And somehow, it erased any resentment she still had.
She was a mother Scarlett could never call Ma. Could never tease nor completely laugh with. They were too different for thay kind of complicity she had once craved, and yet the same blood was in their veins, and the ghost of a past that lingered over their family without a sound with its ancient boldness and his touch of unfinished story.
It did not matter if Mother hated Rhett. It did not matter if she did not understand her love. Her love was hers, and hers alone, and she thought even Rhett would not understand it.
She put her arms around her mother's and closed her eyes.
"Yes, Mother dear," she replied softly. "We shall."
.
.
.
Badgad, Mexico, in the evening
In a disastrous little room far from his home, Pierre Robillard, guerrier extraordinaire and visionnaire , watched wars after wars crackle before his eyes with a good little Bourgogne, and the cynic enjoyment of a man that loved a good tragedy.
American wars. Personal wars. It did not matter. They all were equals to him now. But they still had some twists he had not seen coming.
He still laughed from the news brought to him on the morning.
"Les bons fils et fille se rebellent contre le destin, tandis que les enfants prodigues s'inclinent. Quelle ironie !"
Scarlett and her Rhett, bowing ? It seemed quite unlikely. Knowing the both of them, it was certainly with tongue in cheek. Too stubborn for their own good, and so inclined to misunderstand one another. But they loved each other. One was bound to bend, and he felt sure it would be Scarlett. His darling Scarlett would not bear being with the one she loved, and not be able to express that love, and he was too fearful of a boy to have a leap of faith. It would be quite a torturous thing for her, who was at heart a pleasure-seeking creature.
"L'histoire est loin d'être finie," he mused. "Loin de là !"
It would be so very boring if it was, and they were everything but boring.
Now, what were they going to do, close as they were to happiness ? Would they take it with both hands ? Would they kill one another in the process ?
"Oh, ma Solange, quelle saga! Comme tu aurais aimé cela !"
'Mais pas autant que toi… pas autant toi…', he could hear her whisper in the night, a hint of the past that he held onto.
He continued laughing. But the laughter was lonely and sad now, as gray as the coal in the fireplace. He felt cold and empty, needing for someone to laugh with him.
No one was there. No one important. Only business, a risky business to have in a time of war. He had made it so.
And in this hell of his own making, the memory of Scarlett's laughter was a curse, reminding him his heart was not yet grave, that he still had a purpose in this life. For Scarlett's laughter rang so sweetly, mocking him for his self-illusions of life desillusion, her little hand dangling over him the promises of wishes he had to fulfill, a promise like a root that tied him down. A bond of love as strong as a tree, with the same blood running in their veins.
Rien ne saurait séparer des âmes qui s'aiment !
He shook his head, trying to get rid of the sudden memory.
It is a bittersweet thing actually, he thought, not to be given up. How he wished her to. How he wished she didn't. How he cursed himself for making that engagement, still not complète yet, for she refused to let him by her stubborn silence on the matter.
Everyone actually did give up on him in the end. Why couldn't she ?
Caught between two opposing lights in a tunnel, he chose to linger in between, waiting, getting bored.
And boredom was a dangerous thing for Pierre Robillard to have. For it made him want to derail every train that came his way.
..
.
.
.
Translation for Ellen's memory:
"I'm leaving", her young self cried to the impenetrable Pierre Robillard, who was still, to her utter devastation, looking at his paper as if she hadn't declared her departure. "It is so, I am joining him! You and this good-for-nothing Rhett Butler may have sent him astray, but I'll join him! Nothing can separate two souls that love each other!"
...
He froze for a moment, his jaw hardening, then turned a page.
"You won't do it. You're not of these girls that go on an adventure."
...
"Oh, but I am!"
Another page turned.
"No. You are not one of these girls, capable of following their men into the unknown. You're no Helen of Troy," ... "Nor any other heroine coming from these foolish romances you're so fond of. And even if you were, I would not allow it. Your mother would not allow it. What do you think of doing, with this meager bag at your feet?"
...
"Daughter, get a hold of yourself. You are but a little bird, a pretty little humming-bird, well-learned and pleasant, and I see that what I tell you ruffle your feathers, but you have no practical sense, and your skin is as soft as that of a newborn. You are not equal to the task. Believe me, daughter, what awaits you is only regret and bitterness. "
Oh, he so enjoyed destroying her dreams!
"You are a tyrant! I hate you! Everyone hates you, and Mother as well, from where she is! She would have wanted me happy! She would have wanted that I have what she never had, a love so strong it could vanquish death!"
That time, his dark eyes shot through hers.
First, she felt the thrill of his notice. Then came the fear of his ire.
"This is the first time you dare..., he said smoothly, almost silkily. His black eyes were daggers on her skin, and she shivered. For a moment, she was a stranger, and she could see why he was still feared. She could see the bloodthirsty soldier of Napoléon, fearless and cruel.
..
He softened and straightened his paper. His mouth went down. "Bah, you are young. You don't know what you're saying. Tell me, daughter, don't you have any faith? If you were so confident on your handsomely dark cousin, wouldn't you prefer the honors of a Penelope waiting her Odysseus?"
"He will come back to me!"
She said so, strongly, perhaps too strongly. Of course he would. He told her so, didn't he?
Her heart pounded.
"Thus, wait, daughter. After all, nothing could ever separate souls that love each other from a love so strong it can vanquish death."
.
.
.
Hello everyone and a happy new year for every one of you (still January, I can!)
Welcome to this very, very long and torturous chapter!
I am beginning this year so very late, and I am so very grateful if you still choose to wait for me. Sometimes, writing feels like making a plaid: the big parts may be easy to knit, but it's difficult to weave them together to make it harmonious and coherent. Quite a strange thought, but I hope I did.
I wish you all the best, and go back to writing, for you deserve to see this story having a end, and I engage myself to provide it for the new year.
If ever I fail to give news for some time, I grant you the right to give me penalties, by imposing me some sentences, words on the next chapter, thus this way, we can make it at least a bit fun, the more, the merrier 😊
That being said, a little peek at the next chapter:
.
There, a cry of agony, almost inhuman, came from the forest of pines. It seemed it arised from the trees, foretelling the suffering ahead, when the land would be taken bit by bit, torn into pieces until there was nothing left of it.
We thought we could take it back, they seemed to say. But it's all over, all over...
